


Jailbreak

by RussianWitch



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Bondage, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mastermind Q, Scratching, Whipping, implied - Freeform, jailbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-16 20:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: When Q's pet assassin wanders off, he has to get him back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd 
> 
> stray plotbunny

"Time?" Q snaps, his fingers flying over the keyboard, activating the backdoors he's programmed into the London CCTV network ages ago. The inside of the police station comes into view, he slowly works his way down to the hold and interrogation level, until he can lay eyes on his wayward—it's been years now and he still hasn't found the right word to describe what James Bond is to him exactly.  

It's obvious Bond put up a fight, his tailors must have loved that Q thinks, his hair is mussed, the corner of his mouth swollen, it's hard to tell anything more from the black and white feed. He's cuffed, the long chain between his writs attached to the middle of the table, still looking at ease, sprawled in the rickety chair like the arrogant bastard he is.  

"We've isolated all the station's systems, the alarms are down and our people are standing by to enter," R's voice is tinny in his ear, she's in the other van, supervising the rest of Q's team, "will you be accompanying them, sir?" 

"Yes, I think this time I shall," Bond, should have been more careful, a lot more careful, and not only when visiting his tailor. Bond shouldn't have been on the metropolitan police radar in the first place. 

"Give me a couple of minutes for one last check, sir," R asks, and he hums into the microphone in agreement, taking off his headphones and locking the personal workstation on one else is allowed to touch. 

On the CCTV, Bond shakes a cigarette from the pack and produces a lighter he isn't supposed to have from his pocket. Even with his hands cuffed together, he's pleasantly dexterous, distractingly so, ignoring everything in favour of inhaling and exhaling the bitter-sweet smoke. 

"You're clear to go, sir," R says as someone opens the van's back door from the outside, and Q steps out onto the station's front steps, and into the embrace of his bodyguards. 

 

"Pleased with yourself, are you?" He demands from the interrogation room's doorway. Bond doesn't bother to look up, adding to the cloud of bluish smoke swirling around them. 

"Terribly," he answers only after the door falls shut behind Q's back, looking up, pale blue eyes bright with humour. 

"I should leave you here," Q tells him, "do you know how much manpower I'm wasting right now?" Q circles the table until he can rest his hands on Bond's shoulders, reminding himself that strangling the man will be counterproductive. The cuffed man leans back, baring his throat, and Q has to pluck the cigarette from Bond's lips to keep from sinking his teeth into the tanned expanse, taking a drag of nicotine instead. 

"You're still here," Bond points out, "guns blazing..." His tie is askew, it matches Bond's eyes, and Q desperately wants to straighten it. 

"This isn't about you, but my reputation," Q points out, pulling Bond's ear, "just so you know, I'm _very_ upset! Get yourself free." He orders, raking his nails through Bond's hair before stepping back, "now!" 

It takes Bond ten seconds to get rid of the chain binding him to the interrogation table, letting the chain slide through his fingers for a second, before offering the end to Q with a challengingly raised brow. 

Q knows he should ignore the gesture, that leading Bond out on a leash will be far more trouble than the gratification is worth. Bond lets a couple of links through his fingers, the chain contrastingly beautifully with the dark suit he's wearing. 

With a mental curse, Q accept the chain, wrapping a few lengths around his hand, giving it a vicious jerk when Bond smiles smugly. 

No one says a word on their way back through the station, though Q notices a Detective Inspector glaring up at him as they pass the main room, making a mental note to look him up later, he could use a few more competent lieutenants used to following orders. 

R meets him outside with a car waiting to take him back home while she sorts out the clean-up. "It will take us twenty minutes to clean up here," she tells him, ignoring both Bond's greeting and the leash, "two escort cars will catch up past the blockade we've put up." 

"Try for 15, and see if you can install a few bugs while you're here," he asks, pulling Bond along to the car, "I'll be busy for a few hours." 

"Yes, sir," R nods, already typing orders into the tablet she always carries. 

 

Only when the car is on its way, does Q relax, leaning back against Bond's shoulder, humming in pleasure when Bond raises his arms to allow Q to get more comfortable. "You made me stage a full assault on a police station!" He grumbles, playing with Bond's chain. 

"You needed to get out for a bit," Bond murmurs into Q's hair, "you've been cooped up for the last three weeks, the stock exchanges can drop without your assistance for one afternoon." 

"I should have you shot!" Q sighs, swallowing a moan when Bond nuzzles at his ear, nipping at the tip. 

"Have you been cheating on me, and keeping someone else to pull the trigger for you?" He asks, sounding wounded.  

"Jealous?" Q wonders, following the chain to Bond's handcuffs, admiring the way the metal contrast with tanned wrists. Rubbing his fingers over warm flesh and cold steel while wondering how long he can keep forgetting to order Bond to unlock himself. 

"Horribly," Bond confides, sucking at the nape of Q's neck, "unbearably, unendurably even—," he sinks his teeth in Q's neck. 

"Incorrigible," Q tells him, fighting to keep his breathing steady," and still unforgiven." 

"So, you have someone else?" Bond demands. 

"That's for me to know," Q says, smirking as he leans forward giving Bond more room to work. 

"Q..." The killer growls. 

"Shut up!" Q doesn't use that particular tone with Bond often, so the man actually obeys, shutting up and going back to nosing at the back of Q's neck. 


	2. Chapter 2

Q's always liked his bedroom stark, nothing but his bed and a couple of nightstands in the flawlessly white space.

Only when he'd acquired Bond, did some changes prove necessary, the hook in the ceiling among them.

"Up," is all he has to say, for Bond to remove his shoes and take position under it, raising his arms without having to be ordered. Retrieving a chain of his own from the bottom of a nightstand, Q loops it over the hook, attaching it securely to Bond's cuffs, ignoring Bond's smirking at him having to get on tiptoes to do it. He pulls the chain tight enough that Bond has to raise his heels to keep from overstretching, securing it to the wall.

"I like the suit," he tells the bound man, taking out his knife, "order another one, tomorrow."

Q cuts through the back of Bond's collar, slicing down along his spine, pushing the material out of the way as he destroys the material.

The killer doesn't move an inch as Q cuts the rest of his garments off of him. Q takes his time, tracing different muscle groups with the knife as he goes. Bond's breathing stays slow and steady until Q is finished, only speeding up minutely when Q trails the knife down his chest and stomach to run the flat of it along Bond's hard cock.

"Incorrigible," Q judges, turning the knife to let Bond feel the sharp of it before putting it away, "tell me to stop." He orders, circling to look Bond in the eye, watching the icy blue of the irises disappear.

"No!" Bond tells him, throwing himself forward, to catch Q's bottom lip with his teeth, savaging him into a deep kiss, that has both of them panting when Q finally pushes him away. Grabbing Bond's chin, Q inspects the damage the arrest had caused to the man properly now that he had adequate light, making sure no care is needed.

Q's backhand splits Bond's lip, he glares, licking his lips tasting the blood, before relaxing into his bonds in a way Q finds hard to qualify even after having seen it what seems like a thousand times. Gripping Bond's hair tight, Q forces his head down, lapping at the stray drop of blood running down Bond's chin while raking his nails down the man's ribs, kissing him until he's out of breath again before remembering he's still angry with the killer.

"I should skin you for this— _stunt_!" He grumbles, circling to scratch geometric patterns into Bond's back, leaning against him to bite right between the bound man's shoulder blades, "or leave you like this to contemplate the error of your ways."

"But you won't," Bond tells the room, as Q takes off his belt, making the chain jingle as he widens his stance.

"No, I won't," Q concedes with a put-upon sigh, taking the buckle in hand.

The belt leaves a dark pink stripe across the top of Bond's back, the snap of it almost drowning out Bond's grunt. He works his way down the broad back, enjoying the way the powerful muscles tighten and release as Bond submits to the onslaught, until his back and ass are a beautiful crimson, and small tremors run through Bond's whole frame.

Panting from exertion, Q leans against Bond's back, running his tongue across the stripes, exploring the difference between the welts and unblemished skin.

"You're impossible," he sighs again, taking Bond in hand and jerking him roughly until the bound man is right on the edge, before depriving him of all sensation.

"I shan't forgive you anytime soon," Q tells the panting man, "just so we are clear."

Ignoring his own arousal, he turns to detach the chain from the wall.

The chain he's fiddling with slacking unexpectedly is his only warning, before getting slammed into the wall, his arms twisted behind his back, Bond's body pinning him in place.

"I'd endeavor to remember," the killer grunts, using Q's own knife to cut his trousers off, before stabbing it into the wall next to Q's face.

Q isn't sure where the lube comes from, but Bond's fingers are slick when they push into him, rubbing and twisting just right to make him moan and bite his lip to keep from demanding to be fucked already. Not that he needs to say a thing, Bond can read his body perfectly, forcing Q up on his toes and pushing in, making him claw at the wall and try to push back. "And work incessantly to earn your forgiveness!" Bond grunts against the back of Q's neck, taking his hips in a bruising grip, "do tell me when you're satisfied."

"Just put your back into it!" Q moans, giving up on discipline for the day.


	3. New Friends timestamp

Xenia pouts when Janus sends her away, James feels Q shiver as she smiles down at them in farewell, and promises himself never to leave the two of them in a room alone. 

"Don't worry, your boss isn't her type," Janus tells him, pouring more vodka and dropping onto the couch next to him, "she likes it when they can give her a fight." 

"Good, I wouldn't want to have to kill her," James accepts the shot, downing it at once. One drink doesn't mean much, and Janus has been downing his shots one after another since they got there, each one followed by a bite of one brined vegetable or another, and the occasional slice of sausage. 

James can feel Q glare at him from across the train car where he busies himself with inspecting the computer installation.  

"Q  _can_ speak for himself," he reminds James mildly, drawing Janus' attention.  

He's just as much a predator as Xenia, possibly worse, yet somehow manages not to set James' teeth on edge as much crowding Q against the table.   
"You like?" Janus drawls, hand curling greedily around Q's shoulder, looming over him... 

"A bit outdated," Q judges, "but could be upgraded without too much trouble. Badly stabilized too, you must not move the train too often for it to still be working." He shrugs off Janus' hand, turning to step away. 

Face twisting with rage, Janus tries to grab him again, and James surges up from his seat ready to pull the Russian away—"Sit **_down_** , Bond!" Q snarls, his knife gleaming against Janus' throat. 

"Take your hands off of me!" He orders, the seconds dragging until Janus' rage subsides, and his hand slides off Q's shoulder in a parody of a caress.    
"Feisty is he?" He asks James, trying to step away from the blade. Q follows, forcing Janus back, until he's pinned against the train car wall, the knife not wavering once. 

"You have no idea," the sight of Q wielding his knife, always does things to James. Good and bad, the urge to sit back and enjoy the show warring with the need to protect his—'his' in a lot of ways works just fine as a description of him and Q.  

Janus opens his mouth, a demonic gleam in his eyes, James shifts minutely getting ready to go for his gun... 

"As much as I enjoy testosterone laden posturing," Q says icily, "we _are_ here on business." He flicks the blade and a drop of blood wells just above Janus' Adam's apple. "You have a choice, Mr. Janus, either make a deal or watch as I burn your whole operation down around you."  He trails the knife down the cornered man's chest, smiling as the tip catches on fabric with Janus' every careful breath, "make it now." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I can't leave things well enough alone.


End file.
